The Testimony of Sean Jensen
by BigWGuy
Summary: This story was inspired by the writing assignment given in Stephen King's book On Writing. Hope you enjoy it. Feedback appreciated. This is a one shot, completed story.


The Testimony of Sean Jensen

By BigWGuy

Spring was Sean Jensen's favorite time of year, and even though the temperature was a cool forty-eight degrees, he had the driver side window down and the radio up as if summer had arrived in full bloom. The Boss was touting the virtues of the glory days, and Sean tried accompanying.

Terri, hands firmly clamped over her thirteen year old ears, grimaced in obvious distaste, and sank further down the seat pretending to hide.

"Everyone's a critic!" Sean said, and jumped right into the chorus without missing a beat.

"What would Pastor Mike say if he knew you were corrupting your young daughter's mind with rock music?" Terri shouted over the din.

"God gave rock and roll to you! Even Kiss knew that!" Sean replied, and began shouting "Alright!" in answer to the E Street Band's building crescendo. Terri rolled her eyes and laughed.

Sean had chosen the Mustang convertible to ring in the first nice day of spring, and even though there was still hints of brown and black snow along the streets that would require him to run the car through a car wash to remove the Minnesota road salt, he just couldn't resist. He'd have put the top down, but it was hardly worth the trouble just to drive Terri to school. He glanced over at her as the song ended and the DJ's staccato voice shot at them from the speakers announcing a thirty minute music set on the way after news and weather. Sean reached over and turned it off.

Terri was growing up so fast! Her long blonde hair flowed over her shoulders now and half way down her jacket. Sean could remember how they had laughed the first time he tried to put that hair in pig tails and make them come out even. He'd placed them too high on her head and she looked like she had horns, and then too far towards the back so they looked like handlebars. After half an hour of trying, they'd finally got it right, and made a good memory in the process. Now, approaching fourteen like a bullet train, pig tails had not been an issue for some time. Her blue eyes were piercing, and they shined like jewels in the April sun. She was going to be a beauty, heck, she was a beauty already.

"Hey Dad", Terri asked, snapping him back from his nostalgia, "have you thought anymore about speaking at our graduating ceremony? Mr. Campbell asked me again yesterday, and he really wants you."

"I've been racking my brain to think of what I would say to a group of pre-teens going into senior high, and nothing is jumping out at me. Besides, since when is eighth grade a graduation year? I hope you don't expect a car!"

"Dad," Terri moaned in mock irritation, "we've been over this. Mr. Campbell says you're an inspiration," here she dropped into a mimic of Mr. Campbell's voice, "and that's just what these kids need going into the pressures that senior high students face." They both laughed and then she said, "besides, I agree, you are inspiring."

He glanced over at her again and those glimmering blue eyes could not be denied. What was a father to do? "Ok, tell your Mr. Campbell I'll do it," Sean said reaching over to stroke her face, "but remember, my fee is one Saturday night movie and pizza party with the prettiest girl in the class! Otherwise, you can call Oprah!"

"Ok, I'll tell Susie Swanson you want her to come over Saturday," Terri smiled, "but I don't think her parents will approve."

Sean slipped into his best Moe voice, which sounded more like Humphry Bogart than the head stooge, and said, "Hey, I'll tell the jokes around here knucklehead!"

Pulling up to the front door of South Junior High, he braked to a stop and put the Mustang into park. He then reached across and kissed her on the forehead. He caught the sent of her shampoo or perhaps hair spray, and a wave of nostalgia flowed over him again. It was the same smell he remembered her mother's hair having, and he sat back to look at her.

The look on his face must have concerned Terri, because her brow furrowed and she said, "What is it Daddy?"

Her voice jerked him back to present day, and he smiled, "Oh, nothing, just thinking how quickly time passes and how fast little girls turn into young women."

She smiled, "I'm glad your speaking. I'll have Mr. Campbell make arraignments for the ramp to be put next to the stage for you. You'll have to come in through the gym doors around back same as you do for volleyball games."

"I'll be sure to shine up my wheels," he said and kissed her again. "Have a good day, and call me if you want me to come pick you up, I should be home all day."

"I'll just take the late bus, I wanted to talk with Jenny about staying at her house next weekend. We have big plans to make."

"OK, just be careful. I love you, sweetheart!"

"I love you too Daddy," and with a flip of her hair and a flip of the car door, she was gone.

He watched her walk up to the doors and pile into the school with the tide of other kids. "So much like her mother... "he mumbled absently, then turning back to the road, he put the car in drive and headed for home.

On the way back he went through the drive through at McDonalds and got breakfast, eggs, pancakes, sausage patty and coffee. Terri had wanted an omelet and so Sean had graciously obliged her, but he had wanted pancakes today. It wasn't the most healthy thing in the world, but what was these days. One day you should drink milk, the next it would kill you. Vegetables were essential, but you have to wash them with a spray to take care of the pesticides, then come to find out the spray causes brain tumors! Sean had decided long ago to eat what he liked and watch his saturated fat intake. Exercise had been an issue for a while, but ever since he got the hand bike, he'd lost some weight and felt a lot more energetic.

A lot of things had been a challenge since the incident, at least that was the insurance company's word for it, that had left Sean a paraplegic from the waist down, and left him a single parent of his four year old daughter. Now, with the sent of her shampoo, if it really had been the same shampoo, drifting through his mind, he was hard pressed not to recall that first encounter with Stella Hamilton.

As a senior in high school, Sean had been at the height of his commitment to his faith. Having become a Christian at a summer camp his Junior year, he was helping to lead his youth group, playing guitar in the worship band, and going to the Gospel Mission twice a month with other men from his church to lead a bible study and help serve an evening meal. On this particular day, a Christian rock band had come to town and Sean had rallied a few of his friends to take some invitations and go around town handing them out to other teens. He had gotten the local pizza shop to donate a slice of pizza and a small pop to anyone who showed up after the concert with Sean's invitation, and a ticket stub. Sean had come across a group of teens hanging out in a local park, smoking cigarettes and listening to loud music. They were dressed in Goth style, the boys and girls both having dark mascara under their eyes and the girls having black lipstick and white faces. One of the boys had six rings pierced through his bottom lip and four in each nostril. A silver chain linked from each nose ring to a lip ring, making a mask effect over his mouth, and they moved as he spoke.

"We don't want your lame concert, your lame pizza party, or your lame god!" he said. "God is for cowards who can't handle the reality that life sucks then you die!"

Sean was undaunted, and after much debate, finally convinced them to take the invites. One by one he went to each of them and offered, and one by one they accepted, some with a smile, most with indifference. The last person he offered to was a girl. She had cut her hair so that it stuck up about two inches all around her head, and had shaved the back almost to bare skin. Each ear carried six rings, and a gold chain went from the left lobe to the one ring in her nose. Her eyelids were painted black, but under them were the brightest blue eyes he'd ever seen. In this company of stark black and whites, her eyes shone out like a New England lighthouse over a fog shrouded bay. She had dyed her hair black, but Sean could see hints of blond in the roots. He was instantly taken with her, and was instantly afraid. She never said anything, but smiled at him when she accepted the paper invite. He wondered now, as he pulled up the driveway to his garage, what life would have been like if he'd have passed that park by that day.

But he had not, and as a consequence she had been at the concert, and he had seen her there while passing out tracts and small New Testament Bibles. She had smiled at him again, and when he asked her if she'd like to come to his youth group some Wednesday night, she'd said yes. Sean wasn't worried about her appearance, they were a church that went after the homeless and the hard-core rebels, but he was surprised to see her show up not in a black trench coat and fishnet stockings, but in jeans and a baggy hooded sweatshirt. In place of the black eyeliner and shadow, was just a hint of rouge and of the rings and chain there was no sign. When he'd asked her about it, she'd said that she'd been looking for an excuse to get away from those "weirdo's" but Draga, or at least that's what the kid with the rings in his lip called himself, was a neighbor where she'd just moved and she hadn't really met any other people.

They talked about the concert, and about the Bible. Stella had grown up with parents who went to a Lutheran church every Sunday and even held Bible studies in their house during the school year, but her father had been abusive, and used pot on occasion with his friends. A few years ago they divorced because her mom found a man in the church who she said was "more committed to the things of God," and she left them. Her father had gone crazy with jealousy and drank himself into a rage and beaten Stella so badly she needed a week in the hospital to heal. Afterward she'd been bounced around from foster home to foster home, and, in her words, "I guess I just lost faith that God was real. Didn't seem to be helping me much."

"So why did you come tonight," Sean had asked.

She turned those crystal blue eyes on him and they seemed to bore into his soul like a pneumatic hammer drill, and said, "To see you."

He smiled now at the memory of the feeling of his heart jumping into his throat and not being able to speak. She continued, "I saw you walking by the park and I thought, 'there's a guy who knows what life is about, there's someone who's got it figured out,' and I wished I could run up and ask you what it was that made you look so confident and in control."

He started to protest, "Well, Stella I..." but she went right on as though he hadn't spoken.

"Then you came over, and it seemed like no matter what Draga said to you, no matter how rude he was to you, you just never got mad or let him intimidate you, and believe me, Draga intimidates everyone! After you left, he even said that he'd never met a "Holy Joe" that had kept cool under his attacks. You had answers, and when you didn't have answers, you were confident enough to say so." She looked down at her hands, "That really impressed me Sean. And when you walked away I thought to myself, 'I want what he has,' and so here I am."

Sean couldn't remember a time in his life he'd felt so good, and so scared at the same time. In a million years he'd never have thought he could have had such a profound effect on a person in just one short meeting, but wasn't his youth leader always saying you just don't know what other people are seeing in you, or who's watching?

But on the other hand, this girl, although she seemed sincere, could have some serious problems, be looking for the wrong kind of relationship to fill her loneliness. Sean had experience with girls in the group getting crushes on him before, and he'd been able to avoid uncomfortable situations, once with the help of his youth leader, but mostly just by telling girls that he didn't want to date in high school. His heart belonged to God alone right now. Still, Stella had an effect on him that no other girl had ever had. He got tongue-tied around her all the time, and when she'd look at him with those eyes that seemed to see right into him, he would find himself unable to say no to her.

He began to see her outside of youth group, for Bible study purposes only he told himself. But when his youth leader asked him if he was seeing Stella one on one, he denied it, lied point blank. That was the first sign, looking back, that something was wrong. At the time he was too tied up in the ecstasy of the emotions to see it, or care to see it. At first, they met at a public library, always for Bible study, nothing more, but as time went on, she persuaded him to meet in more and more private settings, first the park, then her yard, finally in her garage, where her foster parents had made a small apartment for her.. There she had kissed him for the first time.

Sean had known he was walking a dangerous line, but he was sure he was mature enough to handle the situation. After all, they were studying the Bible, and she was doing so well, memorizing scriptures, and asking questions. It seemed she was really hungry to know more about God. He'd played the scenario out in his imagination and he knew exactly what he would do and say. He would take her hands and look into her eyes and tell her that, as a sister in God, he loved her dearly, but that was all, and that she needed to give her whole life to Jesus and not look for fulfillment in anyone else, including himself. What really happened was entirely different.

They were reading Paul's epistle that said to greet one another with a holy kiss, and she leaned across the table and kissed him on the lips. It lasted only a couple seconds, but it radiated out through his face and down his spinal cord in wave after wave of chills both exciting and guilt ridden. He opened his mouth to speak, and found there were no words. She smiled, and looked back down at the page. A moment later, he gathered his composure, stood, walked around the table to her, took her by the hands, raised her to her feet, and kissed her again, this time longer. He hadn't known he was going to do it, he'd intended to follow his original plan, but when those eyes cut into him like so much warm butter, the girl could not be denied.

Later that night he had called her and apologized profusely for kissing her, and asked if she would forgive him. She said she would with a bit of a giggle, and then asked if he would come over again tomorrow to do the Bible study. He said he didn't think that was a good idea, that the Bible studies were probably not a good idea anymore, and that they should both go and talk to his youth leader about finding a mentor for her. All she said was that she'd be in her garage waiting for him if he changed his mind.

That night he didn't sleep well. Visions of her face, the warm tingles of her lips on his, the feel of her hand on his chest, her hair in his hands, and then he would awake with a guilty start, sitting up in bed, drenched in sweat. He would pray for God to forgive him, but each time the dreams came again, and each time the shame was lessened, and the excitement heightened.

By three o'clock the next day he had run almost the entire way from school to her garage, the whole time thinking, no, knowing he was making a bad decision, but not being able to be away from her for another moment. He'd never felt this way about anyone before, not even God. This yearning, needing hunger in him to just be close to her, to look on her face, to hear her voice. She had cast a spell on him and he didn't care, he just knew he needed to see her. He tried to justify himself by saying he would end it, tell her face to face that they couldn't see each other alone anymore, couldn't meet like this anymore.

When he got there the door was locked and the lights were out, and for a moment his heart fell through his feet thinking she may not be there. He knocked softly and whispered her name. Only silence answered him. He was about to go around to the roll up door, the windows were covered with curtains he knew, but what else could he do, when he caught a flicker of light and a hint of movement beyond the thin curtain over the side door window. In a moment, he heard the click of the lock being drawn back and a voice, soft and enticing, say, "I knew you'd come."

She didn't open the door, and sitting in his own driveway, almost fifteen years later, waiting for the automatic garage door opener to pull the door up far enough for him to drive his Ford Mustang with modified hand accelerator and brake in, he wondered again what would have happened if he'd have taken the other road offered him that day. He'd almost run. The instant before his hand, as if in a dream, raised up to the handle and began to push the door open, he'd had what he now thought may have been a glimpse of reason, a final rebuttal from his Christian conscience to run away, and he'd almost took the advise.

But he hadn't. He'd gone in to her, and more that kissing had happened that day. When he'd left the garage it was well after midnight, and he was carrying a good portion of his clothing. For a while he burned with guilt, but with each new experience with his new found love, the guilt didn't burn as much. Slowly, he began to miss youth outings, then the Wednesday nights had gone altogether. When his youth leader had called for him, he told his parents that they just weren't seeing eye to eye anymore, and that he needed a break. Since his parents didn't attend church, they didn't pay it much attention.

By the time Stella came to him with a plastic applicator with two blue lines on it, Sean had almost forgotten what it was to be a Christian anymore, but there was enough morality still in him to refuse to have an abortion. He went to her foster parents and told them he wanted to marry Stella. Being that they were not her parents, and she was turning eighteen soon, they didn't seem to mind the idea. His parents had thrown a fit to end all fits, his father telling him he'd successfully ruined his life over some little whore living in a garage loft. Sean had punched him and knocked his front two teeth through his lip. He packed what clothing he needed and left that night.

By that time he'd already graduated, and was working the summer driving a recycling truck, good money, long hours, and physical work. The money was supposed to go towards college tuition, but instead it got them into their first apartment, and a small justice of the peace wedding with a dozen friends and no parents. Six months later, Stella gave birth to an eight pound, eleven ounce blonde haired, blue eyed angel that was by far the most beautiful thing Sean had ever laid eyes on. When he held her in his arms the first time, the tears had rolled down his face, and he never though he could be a happier man.

For the next couple years life went on pretty much as normal. They graduated from their one bedroom apartment to a two bedroom, Sean went from driving a recycling truck to a front end loader at the tipping floor of the sorting center, a job which paid considerably more, and for her second birthday, Sean bought Terri and her mother a small two bedroom rambler in a cul-du-sac. Life was good, at least that's what he thought. Oh, sure, they had their fights over money, and there were times when things were tight, and there was even a time when Stella couldn't handle being the "stay at home mom" any more, and just disappeared for three days. When she finally came back, Sean first hugged her, then wanted to choke her to death with his bare hands! Her reasoning, if you could call it that, was that he could handle things for a few days while she went and got her head straight. She had intended on not coming back, said she'd bought a ticket to Vegas and everything, but in the end she couldn't see leaving Sean behind and never seeing her daughter grow up to go to school. Once in a while he got the urge to go to church again or to try and touch base with his old youth leader just to show him how good things were going, but Stella always deterred him, fearing their judgmental comments or that they would not accept Terri. Sean always acquiesced, and so it never became an issue.

Until the day he walked into a Subway on his lunch break and bumped, almost literally, into his youth leader walking out. Tim didn't get all preachy or even ask why he hadn't been back to church in over three years. He was genuinely glad to see Sean, which couldn't have surprised him more if Tim had jumped at him out of his cold cuts. Tim said he'd heard that Sean was married and had a daughter, and wanted to know how he liked being a father. By the end of lunch, Tim had given Sean his phone number and told him to keep in touch and to call if Sean needed anything, even a baby sitter. Not one time did Tim try and sermonize or convict him. Not one word of how he had hurt people in the youth group who were looking to him as a leader. Not so much as a hint of it in his eyes or voice, and perhaps it was the absence of such accusations or tactics that made Sean feel guilty all over again. Tim really did care about him, and Sean had really turned his back on the whole church, and on God for that matter.

The rest of his day was spent in deep thought, so deep in fact that it effected his performance at work to the point that his supervisor asked him if he was feeling O.K. He'd said that he thought he might be coming down with something and asked to knock off early, something he hadn't done in over two years. He found himself sitting in his car in the parking lot staring across the field that flanked the lot.

"I really let Tim down," his mind said, "and it certainly didn't take much to get me to turn away from God either." With that thought, his chin began to quiver and he felt the burn of tears forming in his eyes. "Jesus sacrificed so much for me, and I really let Him down." Just before five o'clock, he started up the car, put it in drive, and drove to a gas station to use the pay phone. Within half an hour he was pulling into Tim's driveway and all but running to his door.

"Sean, what's wrong, you sounded upset on the phone." Tim said as Sean entered the living room.

Tears stained Sean's cheeks, but he managed to croak out, "I need you to know I'm sorry for leaving like I did all those years ago. I know that must have hurt."

Tim began to protest, but Sean forged on, "And I want you to know why. The girl I married, well, I slept with her before we were married, and I was too embarrassed to face you and the rest of the church, and, truth be told, I knew you'd tell me to stop, and I didn't want to stop." The tears were flowing again, almost as fast as the words, and Tim reached for him, but Sean stopped him, "No, I need to do this. I cheated on God, and I betrayed you and everyone else who was depending on me, and I've been living in denial of that for three years and I had just hardened my heart to it. Then I saw you today and every fear I had that you would hate me, judge me, criticize me, was destroyed because all you cared about was how I was doing. You didn't once mention how I'd hurt you or let you down. You didn't try to rub my nose in the fact that I'd done something terrible and damaged your ministry. You just wanted to know how I was, and then to offer to help us any way you can. I just... I can't..." and then his emotions welled to a tidal flow that could not be held back any more than the dark of night can hold back the dawning of day.

Tim put his arms around him and Sean cried like a child, and Tim cried with him. They stood that way for a long time, just holding one another and weeping. Then Tim prayed for him and his family, that God would show him the way back, and that Sean would be a mighty warrior for God's kingdom again. When it was all over, Tim asked if he and Stella would be interested in coming to dinner at their house. "I never really did get to know Stella, and we'd love to see your daughter." Sean thought about Peg, Tim's wife, and what a good influence she would be on Stella, and said he'd talk it over with her and get back with them. They hugged again, and Sean returned to his car and headed home.

Sean came through the kitchen door fairly busting with joy and fervor for God. The forgiveness he felt was like loosing fifty pounds. He felt light as air and ready to take on the world! God loved him! He knew it, and most of all God loved Stella and Terri. What a fool he had been, thinking God would be angry and hateful towards them. He took her in his arms and gushed the story in bursts and blurts that must have seemed fairly incomprehensible. Stella listened with a bright enthusiasm until he got to the part where he went to see Tim after work. Her face began to darken, and by the time he was telling her about the forgiveness he felt, her face was hard and accusing.

"What do you mean you felt guilty all these years?" she asked, tears beginning to swell in her eyes. "Do you mean to tell me you felt guilty for loving me all these years, Sean?"

This stopped him cold. He hadn't expected this response. "Well, I didn't mean that..." he stammered, but Stella cut him off with a look that could have brought down a company of Japanese Kamikaze planes.

"You are not "forgiven," she spat, "because there was nothing to forgive! I loved you Sean, and I'm not ashamed to love you, and if those so called Christians, can't accept that, then they can all go to Hell for all I care!"

"Stella, please, I didn't mean..." but it was no good.

"Oh, sure, he wants us to come to dinner. Tell us how much God loves us, tell us how much we've disappointed the Almighty, and how grateful we should be that He is allowing us back into his good graces." In the background, Terri began to cry as Stella's voice grew in volume.

"Honey, you've got it wrong, just listen..." but she just talked over the top of him again.

"You high and mighty religious types. You always have to find a reason to feel guilty or make others feel guilty. You're just not happy unless somebody is telling you how bad they feel about what they've done or are thinking about doing! Well, I'm not guilty, I don't feel guilty, and I won't be made to feel guilty, do you understand me?" This last she screamed so loud that it vibrated in Sean's head like a clapper on a copper bell in a church steeple. She turned to storm out, but Sean grabbed her by the arm and spun her around.

"O.K. wait just a...." and that was all he could get out, because the look on her face was that of a woman he'd never seen before. Her eyes were slits, and her lips were drawn back over her teeth in a snarl that would have sent any self respecting wolf running with it's tail between it's legs. Her hands shot towards his face, nails bared like claws, and had he been a second slower in dropping his face, the scar that runs across his forehead now, may have left him blind as well as a cripple. He stumbled backward, blood oozing from the gash in his forehead. He wiped at it with his hand and when he brought it away, the palm was painted red. He looked at her just in time to see her coming at him again, but this time he sidestepped her and sent her sprawling across the floor of the kitchen.

"What's gotten into you," he shouted, still in shock from the blood on his hand. The only answer he got was a kitchen chair kicked at him from the floor. It barked against his right shin, and he might have gone down if he hadn't grabbed the back of the chair to support himself. She leapt to her feet and dashed past him, out of the kitchen and into their bedroom, door slamming behind her.

He stood there for a moment, listening to Terri scream, nursing his throbbing shin. He felt numb all over, and couldn't understand how such a perfect day had turned into such a nightmare. They'd argued before, but nothing on this level. He was bleeding, for God sakes! He managed to hobble over to the sink and grab a paper towel, wet it, and wipe his forehead. The wound stung, and the towel came away crimson. He probed it with his fingers and caught a glimpse of it in the window over the kitchen sink. Maybe about four inches across, just above his right eye. He couldn't tell if it was going to need stitches or not. This was insane, where had all that rage come from? Anger helped to clear the shock away from his mind, and he headed toward the bedroom door, towel still pressed to his wound.

"Stella, get out here! We need to talk about this." He was beyond angry now, and had decided to forgo the traditional, bang on the door till she opens it routine, and was just going to kick it in, when it swung wide open. He stopped mid-stride and for the third time that day, the feeling of being outside himself and watching what was happening around him enveloped him. Standing in front of him, arms outstretched in his direction, three point shooter's stance as if she'd been through the police academy, his lovely bride was pointing a small pistol in his face.

"Do you really want to tell God how sorry you are, you dope!" she asked through gritted teeth. "Do you really want to know if God gives two seconds of thought to who you are or what you do, because if you do, I can arrange a meeting for you right now!" her hands didn't shake, the tears were gone, and those penetrating blue eyes had gone from crystal pools to ice daggers aimed right at his heart.

"Where did you get that?" was all his overburdened mind could think to ask. Who was this woman, and where was his wife?

"Shut up! You're such a follower! There you are all high and mighty, handing out your little tracts to all us poor, lost souls, and I think to myself, I wonder how long it would take me, what I would have to do to convince you to turn away from it all and worship me the way you worship this God of yours." Her smile was a sarcastic sneer now and he could see her finger tightening on the trigger. "So I made a bet with Draga, hey Draga, why don't you tell him what our bet was," and suddenly, like he'd stepped out of a time machine, the kid with the rings in his lip and nose and chains connecting them all together stepped out from behind the bedroom door and smiled. To Sean he was as out of place here as a giant squid would have been at a ballroom dance. He was dressed in the same outfit, long black trench coat, black Doc Martins, black jeans and shirt, only now a pentigram hung from his neck on a silver chain. His smile revealed teeth that had been filed down into fangs, and he was wearing contacts that made his eyes glow crimson.

"What is going on here Stella?" Sean said, not being able to fully comprehend what was happening.

"Well you see, it's like this you puke," the thing called Draga spat, "your wife is my concubine, and for the entire time you've been married I been puttin' it to her while your out payin' for us to live together under your roof! That's right, she never had any real feelings for you, you Holy Joe! The only reason she showed any interest in you was because I wanted her to. You holier than thou types are so easy to corrupt. Just play a bit to your pride, and show you a bit of leg, and boom, another one bites the dust!"

"Only you had to start feeling guilty again!" Stella said, shaking the gun a little. "Everything was so perfect, I only had one more year to go, and then we'd be set, but you had to go get religious again!" Her grip on the pistol began to shake, he thought more out of fatigue than anger or frustration.

Draga laughed, "Well look at the big Holy Joe now! What do you got? Nothing. A wife who never loved you, a God who doesn't exist, and a bastard daughter who you can't even be sure is yours now."

Even now, over ten years later, Sean can remember the hatred and fury begin to burn in his stomach like banked coals, as realization set in of what had been going on right under his nose for the past four years. Suddenly, little hints that should have tipped him off began to bob up in his memory like dead fish in a poisoned pond. Stella's disappearing act, where had she really been? The money from the account missing that she said was for clothes, but he never really noticed her wearing anything new. Most blatant was Terri. Almost since she could talk she had referred to, what sounded to Sean like, "Duck Man". She would say things like, "Daddy, where Duckman?" or "Duck Man scary, Daddy!" When he'd asked Stella about it she said it was one of her stuffed toys that they liked to play with, and Sean was too willing to believe. Looking at him now, Sean instantly knew.

"Dark Man?", he said, and Draga bowed with a flourish.

Now shame was added to the mix and he looked back to Stella. Her eyes were still arctic circles in a subzero sea. "Why," he asked, "why would you do this? What could be worth living a lie for so long?"

Stella only laughed, "What else did I have to do? It was fun, and it's not like we weren't good together in bed! Besides, you were such a good little worker bee that it was the perfect way for Draga and I to stay together and plan for our future."

Sean had heard enough. He turned and began to walk away from her. If she wanted to shoot him she'd have to shoot him in the back, but he was going to get his daughter, and get out.

"Where do you think your going, Holy Joe," he heard Draga say, and then things got choppy. The next memory he had was waking up on the floor, eyes closed, and the sound of voices in the distance. The voices are arguing, and as he concentrates on them, they begin to draw closer until they are in the room with him. He opens his eyes to find himself sprawled on his stomach in the kitchen. He tries to get up, but he doesn't have any strength. He remembers everything from the middle of his back down feeling like it had been packed in ice to the point of numbness that was painful. He turned his head to see a dark monster holding a gun to his daughter's head and his wife trying to wrestle her away from him. The monster was saying something and trying to get a clear shot. Sean's heart skipped a beat, and he reached for the monster's leg, wanting to pull it away from Terri. The monster and Stella turned their attention on him and stopped arguing for a moment. In that instant Terri breaks free and runs from the room. The monster tries to go after her, but Sean's grip on his shoe prevents it and it almost takes a tumble. It turns and begins kicking him, as does Stella. He doesn't remember the pain, he only remembers the animal fury in their faces, and as he slips into unconsciousness again, he decides they are both monsters after all.

The rest is hazy splotches of nightmare scenes and sounds. Shouts, a gunshot, another, sirens, crying, Terri calling for him, flashing lights. A fat, mustached man's face only inches from his own, like he's going to kiss him. The taste of rancid air being pushed into him, as if the man had just drank a bottle of cheap beer and then belched it into him. Pressure on his chest. More shouts, more sirens. He hears Stella screaming, Terri crying, faces he doesn't recognize flow in and out of focus, like a kaleidoscope of other people's photo albums. Then something stings him, right on the wrist, and warmth begins to radiate from the sting, up his arm, into his shoulder, into his head, and finally, all is quiet.

Sitting in the garage listening to the pinging of the Mustang's slowly cooling engine, Sean marveled at his ability to recall the events of that long ago evening. For a time the doctors didn't give him much of a chance to live, and even if he did, he'd be a vegetable. When he finally did wake up in the ICU he had suffered a concussion, broken jaw in two places, his left eye socket had been caved in, and his nose had been shattered. Three ribs had been broken and his sternum had been separated during CPR in the ambulance. Two fingers on his left hand had been broken, and a myriad of bruises in various shades of purples and yellows covered his torso from waist to head.

The worst of all of course was the gunshot. Stella had shot him in the back after all, with the .38 slug ricocheting off the fifth lumbar vertebrate, effectively pulverizing it, and sending the bullet out through the upper left quadrant of his abdomen. His spleen and gall bladder had to be removed and his left kidney was barely saved. The greatest damage the shot had done however was to his spinal cord. The shattered vertebrate had sent bone shards into the cord, which did not completely sever it, but had caused enough damage that he could feel nothing south of his hip bones. His legs didn't respond to pain stimulus and there was no reflex action. Neurological specialists from the Mayo Clinic gave him a fifty-fifty chance of survival, and a one in a million chance of ever being able to even sit up in a wheelchair. None even mentioned the possibility of walking again. There was no operation, the best they could do was fuse the fourth and sixth lumbar together, and reinforce it with steel rods. If they tried to remove any of the fragments it may have done more damage than good, and could even have killed him.

After six months of surgeries, three of which he had to drink his meals through a straw with his jaw wired shut, Sean began the longest year of his life. Every day he spent working to do the simplest things. He would spend an hour a day just trying to go from a lying position to sitting and then back again. This seemingly small task would leave him drenched with sweat, aching all over, and shaking from fatigue. The rest of his day would be spent sleeping, in physical therapy, and reading. Within three months Sean was pushing himself around in a wheelchair, and three months after that he was lifting himself out of bed into the chair on his own, a small miracle according to his doctors.

His mother had to fill in the blank spaces of his memory concerning the evening he was shot. Apparently a neighbor had heard the shot that crippled him and called the police. After Stella had shot Sean, Draga had wanted to shoot Terri as well and leave. Stella wouldn't let him kill her daughter, and then Sean had grabbed him and Terri managed to get away and hide. While he searched for her, after kicking Sean back into unconsciousness, the police showed up and cornered them. Draga wouldn't surrender and fired on the police, wounding one. The other shot him three times in the chest and once in the face, destroying the silver mask. Stella had tried to grab the gun, but the officer reached her before she could get it out of Draga's dead hand, and put the cuffs on her. Later, she would confess that ever since she had moved next door to Draga, who's real name was Lester McCullah, he had seduced her, convinced her to become a Satanist, and they had been "in love" ever since. She would also confess that her seduction and marriage to Sean was a plot devised by Lester to lead Sean away from his Christian faith and use him to finance their own future. They had been bleeding the family savings to buy drugs and finance the organizing of a cult, which Lester would lead, to wipe Christianity off the face of the earth. In another year they would plan for Sean to have an "accident" and take the life insurance money, thus finishing their plan. Sean's conversion had so confused Stella that she snapped mentally and blew their cover. It was deemed by the court that she was a victim of brainwashing and due to the abuse by Lester was mentally incompetent to face trial. She was sentenced to a mental institution in the northern part of the state, until such time as she was deemed competent to face a jury.

Sean had written her a letter from the hospital and gotten no response. Later, once he was out of the hospital, he had gone to visit her. They had seated her on the other side of a Plexiglas window, and for a few moments they said nothing at all, but just stared at each other. Finally, a tear began to form in the corner of her eye, and as it crested her eyelid and rolled down her cheek, she said, "You killed Draga!" Her mouth curled into a snarl, and she pounded a fist on the glass, "I'll kill you one day, you Holy Joe!" Almost instantly guards dressed in white uniforms were at her sides pulling her out of the chair and leading her back to the hospital ward. "I'll kill you, like you killed Draga!" over and over until he couldn't hear her. He had left that day feeling so dejected and confused, that he didn't eat or sleep for four days after.

He probably would have gone crazy himself with grief over the following months, had it not been for his faith and Tim and Peg. Tim came by the hospital every day once Sean was conscious. He listened to Sean vent his anger, cried with him, prayed with him and for him, and eventually, helped him find his way back to the Savior he had once loved and served. Tim just had a way of bringing Sean's situation into perspective. He would tell Sean, "You were betrayed, so was Jesus, by the people who were closest to him. Judas was a disciple that Jesus loved, so was Peter. Both betrayed and denied knowing him. You've been lied to, so was Jesus. You've been kicked and shot, Jesus was spit on and hung on a cross. You've been given a rare gift to experience first hand what Jesus did to set you free. To most people it's just words on a page, but to you Sean, it will always have deep meaning."

Soon after going to see Stella, Sean went before Tim and Peg's church and re-committed his life to serving Jesus, and asked if Tim would baptize him again. After that, Tim and Peg became surrogate parents to Terri, baby sitting when necessary, and teaching her in Sunday school. It was Tim who had gone with Sean to see his father for the first since he'd punched him. Sean had asked for forgiveness and the two had made amends with tears and hugs. Tim had truly been the hands and feet of Jesus to Sean and his family, and it had sustained him through the hardest of it all.

He pushed open the Mustang's door and hit the button for the garage door to close behind him. Just outside the car door, his wheelchair waited for him like a sentinel standing guard. He reached out and pulled it to the car, lifted himself into it with arms that looked more like legs, biceps more like thighs, and closed the car door. He wheeled his way up the ramp that lead to the kitchen, and fished in his breast pocket for a key. He had absolutely refused to get an electric chair, saying that the last thing he wanted was to become a big blob in a mechanical prison. He liked being strong and still able to move on his own. He had tried braces for his legs so that he could walk with canes, but they were so uncomfortable and left his upper back and shoulders feeling like someone had buried a white hot charcoal briquette under his skin.

Instead he had opted to have a house built with kitchen counters and a stove that was low enough for him to be able to cook meals. The entire house was hardwood and tile flooring to make for easy traction. The bathroom was constructed with rails around the toilet and the tub, and with the addition of the hand operated car, he was completely self sufficient. Of course the Mustang was just for driving around because he'd never be able to get to the trunk and remove a folded up wheelchair. A van equipped with a lift and rails to go from the drivers seat to the back was also parked in the garage for running errands and such. Some things he had to have delivered, like groceries, but for the most part his life was as normal now as anyone's and that's just how he liked it.

It hadn't always been that way. Although insurance paid for the better part of the hospital bills and physical therapy, it didn't pay the house payment or bills. The house loan was able to be deferred for six months, but after that Sean had to sell it. His days as a front end loader operator were over, but his employer offered him a desk job when he was ready for it, and he took it. The pay wasn't as good, and no overtime, but now he found that getting to work and back was a hassle, and left him so exhausted that he had to drop to four days a week, then three within two months. Back then he didn't have the van or the Mustang and had to rely on Dial A Ride busses. They were living in a two bedroom facility for handicapped people, and it was worse than living in an apartment. Some of the people there never left their apartments, and made some pretty strange noises. It made Sean uncomfortable to think of Terri home for a couple hours by herself while he was stuck on a bus in traffic.

One evening he was channel surfing, not able to sleep and came across a story about a thirteen year old who had made a fortune trading stocks on the Internet, and his curiosity was peaked. The next day he bought a used computer out of the paper for $550, and told the guy that he'd pay him another fifty to deliver it, set it up and show him the basics.

"A hundred," the guy had countered, "and I'll throw in a copy of 'Internet for Dummies' I have." Sean had agreed. The next day the guy showed up, turned out to be an eighteen year old kid, and got Sean up and running. That night Sean looked up some of the websites he'd written down from the story, and began looking into trading. That had been over nine years ago. Now, most of his money came from online consulting to others who wanted stock tips and reports. Sean found he loved researching companies and finding information online. He made some very good investments early on, and was able to turn it into a full time venture by his second year. It had paid for the van, the Mustang, and was currently paying the mortgage on the house. Even when the market tanked, he seemed to have a sixth sense about when to sell and when to buy, and he had come out ahead. His portfolio was now approaching half a million dollars, and if things kept going this way, he'd be to a million by the end of next year. Not bad for a cripple.

Unlocking the door, he pushed through into the kitchen, and dropped the keys on the counter. He began to roll towards the living room and stopped half way. There was an odd odor in the air that he couldn't place, something vaguely familiar, yet it's origin danced along the fringes of his recollection like a butterfly avoiding the catcher's net. He breathed deeply, and closed his eyes. It reminded him of French toast, vanilla with a hint of cinnamon. Perhaps it was left over breakfast smell, but his omelets had been made with garlic, cheese and mushrooms. Well, whatever it was, it was not unpleasant. Maybe Terri had bought a new air freshener for the bathroom and it was working overtime. She was always buying new scents to try out in her plug in, and this one was a real winner.

He rolled to the stove, pulled a sauce pan out of the cupboard, and then rolled to the sink. He half filled the sauce pan with water and returned to the stove. Turning a dial on the front produced a series of clicks, and a second later a blue flame appeared on the front left burner. He had never been much for teapots. His mother had always heated water in a sauce pan for coffee or hot cocoa, and if it was good enough for Mom, it was good enough for him. He reached above the counter next to the stove and pulled his coffee mug from a shelf. In the drawer under the counter he found an assortment of instant coffee, hot cocoa, and espresso packets. He chose Irish Cream Espresso, and dumped it's contents into the cup. The coffee that came with his McDonald's feast was terrible, but what the heck, it came with the meal. He put the bag on the kitchen table and went into the living room, waiting for the water to boil and wanting to check the stock market report.

He went to the spot vacated for his wheel chair next to an end table with the remote, T.V Guide, and a coaster for his mug. The smell was a bit stronger in here, it must be coming from the bathroom in Terri's room. He had made sure that the plans for the house included Terri's own bathroom. A single man should not have to share a bathroom with a teenage girl anymore than a pig should have to share his trough with a swan. She should not have to deal with his smells and whisker shavings in the sink any more than he should have to deal with pads in the waste basket and bra's drying on the towel bar. Besides, he loved to soak in his tub, a Jacuzzi with twelve jets in various positions along his back and sides that made it feel as though he were being used as a practice dummy in a masseuse training class. It was deep enough for him to submerge all the way up to his chin and had a padded headrest. A person could drown in a tub like that, but what a way to go. Sometimes he fell asleep in there only to wake when the water had cooled to an uncomfortable temp. There was no heater in the tub to keep the water warm so as not to par boil his feet and legs accidentally.

The local news came on, interrupting the stock reports with a special announcement. A blonde anchor woman with too much makeup and brown eyes filled the 27 inch screen.

"We have just gotten reports of a breakout from the Moose Lake Mental Health Facility in Moose Lake, MN. Sometime between four and five AM today, three women were discovered trying to escape by hiding in laundry delivery bins. Upon discovery, the women produced sharpened pieces of Plexiglas and fought with guards. Two of the women were shot after stabbing one guard in the throat. The third woman wounded the delivery truck driver and forced him from the vehicle. She then took the truck and broke through the outer gate and headed south on I-35. Police and State Troopers found the truck abandoned about ten miles down the freeway along with a prisoner's jumpsuit. No names are being released, but police have asked people to be on the lookout for any woman in the vicinity of Moose Lake who is on foot, looking for a ride, or even looking hurt. This woman is about five foot five, a hundred and twenty pounds, she has blonde hair, and blue eyes. If you have any information, or if you spot this woman, please call the Moose Lake Sheriff's Dept. at ...."

Sean clicked off the TV. He was sweating profusely and his hands were shaking. Suddenly, it was too quiet. He found himself listening for the slightest noise, the smallest, faintest sound. It wasn't the thought of Stella being the one to escape, nor the description which matched Stella perfectly, I mean, how many five foot five, hundred and twenty pound blonde haired blue eyed women were there in the world? None of these things gave him reason to be any more than mildly interested, to sit and ponder the "what if". What had sprouted rivulets of perspiration on his brow, made the hair on his neck stand at attention, and send his hands into spasms was suddenly he had realized where he had smelled that smell before!

In the spring of every year, the first decent day of spring, Stella would open all the windows in the house, she would scrub the floors with pine cleaners and the porcelain with bleach. She would dust everything with lemon scented polish, and Murphy's Oil Soap the hardwood. Then once it was all finished, because she couldn't stand the smell created by all these cleaners, she would burn cinnamon stick incense. He remembered it clearly now because it always reminded him of French toast.

His mouth was dry, and his heart was thudding in his ears. Slowly and quietly he began to roll himself back toward the kitchen. The closest phone was there, and he knew he needed to get police over here right away because if she wasn't in the house right now, she had been here recently, he was sure of it, and would be back, or was right now on her way to Terri's school. He moved slowly and quietly, so as not to alert her if she was hiding somewhere, waiting for him to enter his room or the bathroom.

As he wheeled past the TV he glanced at it, wishing he would have left it on to help cover his voice on the phone. He reached for the remote on the floor, and picked it up. Sitting back up in the chair, he turned towards the TV just in time to see a quick flash of movement coming from the door to his room behind him silhouetted in the screen. With a shout of panic he leaned forward in the chair and spun the wheels with all his might, sending himself spinning forward. His attacker had counted on surprise, and swung just as he ducked. Sean felt air move above his head and neck, but didn't look back. He just kept pumping his arms until he got into the kitchen.

He spun his right wheel hard while holding the left wheel stationary and cut an almost ninety degree left turn around the corner and in front of the fridge. Again, his attacker had misjudged his speed and careened past him and stumbled into the middle of the kitchen, almost pitching forward into the table. He spun back to the right to face the intruder, but most of her was obscured by the table. Still, he didn't have to see her to know exactly who it was. Slowly, the figure behind the table rose, and the sight would not have been more frightening if he was standing on the shores of Tokyo Bay watching Godzilla rise out of the water.

She had shaved her head bald and whatever she'd used to do it had cut nicks and scrapes in her scalp so that pockets of blood were pooling and running in spider web patterns down the sides. One drop had run from the crown of her head down between her eyes and was forming a drip on the end of her nose. Her eyebrows were gone too, and both ears were filled with rings, making her look like a gore clotted Alferd E. Newman. Her mouth was drawn open in a toothy grin that was more snarl than smile, and he noticed a new piercing in her bottom lip just above her chin, a red dot, perhaps a chip of ruby, the color of blood.

"Hello Holy Joe," she said, her voice mocking sweetness, "Did you miss me?" Sean couldn't reply, his throat had closed up in horror. "Aw, nothing to say to your sweet wife who's been away at the basket weaving factory? What's the matter, did you become a mute as well as a cripple?" At this she threw her head back and cackled, and Sean envisioned her snatching up the kitchen broom and flying around the room with it.

Stella rose to full height behind the table. Sean noticed she was wearing Terri's clothes, a white tee shirt that said, "The Princess Must Be Obeyed!" and a pair of hip hugger jeans that looked like they might fall down to her ankles if she wasn't careful. In her right hand she held a boning knife from the butcher's block on the counter. She pointed it at him and said, "Did you like my little surprise? Did you remember?" she lifted her nose in the air and breathed deeply, spreading her arms out to the sides. He thought she would start twirling around like Julie Andrews in Sound of Music. "Ah, the memories," she sighed, "so many memories."

Sean finally swallowed the lump of fear in his throat and found his voice. "How did you find me? We haven't had any contact for almost ten years."

She dropped her arms and looked at him with an arctic glare. "Nine years, five months, seventeen days, to be exact. When you're locked up in a nut house and your room mate is chewing on her toe nails and trying to convince you she sees spiders coming out of the walls at night, time has special significance." Slowly, she began to come around the table toward him, the knife gripped in a white-knuckled fist, her eyes never leaving his. "You think about all the time you could be spending 'out there' in the big, wide world, but instead you're locked up with Crazy Carrie who thinks she's Betty Davis and walks around with her eyes opened real wide and talking like she just gargled a church window!" Sean began to wheel backwards but bumped into the stove. Stella was advancing slowly, beginning to raise the knife.

"You wake up every morning to see the sun shine and the birds sing, but you can't enjoy it without some nurse looking over your shoulder who would rather have a root canal than talk to you like a human being. They spit in my oatmeal, I know they do. Have you ever had to eat spit, Holy Joe?" her voice was increasing in volume and the last had reverberated in his head until his ears began to ring and his eyes hurt. She was almost on top of him now and beginning to raise the knife. "Do you know what kept me going for all that time, pretending to be psycho? Do you have any idea?"

"Stella, please, don't..." he began to say. Her left hand shot out and slapped his face, and he recoiled, arms flying up to protect from the knife.

"Don't you ever interrupt me again you hypocrite," she growled, "this is my show, my time, and my monologue, so shut your Holy Joe mouth and just sit there." He was cringing, waiting for the knife to come, but she only held it over him, threatening.

"What kept me alive in that place, kept me from going crackers for real, was the idea, the hope, the desire, for this very day! That's right Holy Joe, you kept me going." She took a step back and seemed to ponder this for a moment, then turned back to Sean as if having remembered something, "Oh yes, just one minor detail, you killed the only man I really loved!" The snarl was back, the eyes like glaciers floating in a lake of fire. "Draga was a great man, a great leader, and a great lover, and you killed him because you wouldn't just die! You had to grab him, make him loose the girl. I'd almost convinced him to just let her go before you grabbed him, and then after you were unconscious again, he wouldn't leave. He wanted that to be the first thing you saw when you woke up, her dead eyes looking into yours, knowing it was your fault she was dead, that you couldn't save her. He looked so hard for her that the cops showed up and shot him!" She lunged forward, shook the tip of the knife in his face and screamed, "Why didn't you just die?"

She stepped back again, eyes filling with tears, and started pacing back and forth in front of him. "Why, why, why, why, why, why, WHY!!" This last she screamed directly into his face, and the ear ringing began afresh. He was totally confused as to what was going to happen to him. One minute he was sure she was going to run him through with the knife, the next he thought she just might crumple up on the floor and cry. He couldn't tell if she was crazy faking sane, or sane and just stricken with grief.

"_Oh Lord God,_" he prayed, "_I need you. Please help me to know what to do. How do I handle this? Please, guide me God._"

In answer, a voice, somewhere inside him came the words, "_Use My name._"

Had he heard right? Had he made it up? Stella was still pacing in front of him asking the air why, gesturing with the knife. He prayed again, "_God, what should I do?_" and again came the same three words.

"_Use My name_!"

He'd read somewhere in the Bible that Paul had cast evil spirits out of a girl by using the name of Jesus, the pastor had preached about it. He looked at Stella, who at this point was oblivious to his presence, and if he could have walked out of the room at that point, he didn't think she would have noticed. She was too close to him though to wheel away without running her over. He leaned a little forward in his chair, cleared his throat, and under his breath he said, "Jesus."

Stella stopped in mid stride and slowly turned her head toward him. "What did you say, you Holy Rollin' Joe?" her voice was a growl, low and ominous.

Sean cleared his throat again and said aloud, "Jesus!"

Stella laughed. She laughed loud and long. But something had happened. A weight had lifted, Sean couldn't explain it, but the air was lighter in the kitchen than it had been.

"Don't try that trash on me, Holy Joe," she sneered. "I don't take to that junk. What's he gonna do, come take the knife away from bad ol' Stella?"

"Jesus, the name of Jesus," he said again, more forcefully, and this time, a chunk of the crippling fear fell away. Now he remembered something else, "In the name of Jesus, release her!"

This time there was no laugh, and she pointed the knife at him. "You'd best stop that now. I'm in charge here, and I said you should stop it."

The fear was ebbing away like so much dirty water down the tub drain, and now instead of a monster with a knife in front of him, he saw a little girl who had been unloved, unwanted, and cast away. The first person to love her was a demon, or at least a boy overtaken by one, and now she'd lost him too.

"In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, release her!" he yelled again, and this time the fear was gone, and he knew what he would have to do.

A stream of obscenities flowed from her mouth like a river of septic sludge, and she came at him, teeth bared, knife raised. As she charged, he rocked one time sideways, and spilled his chair over on the floor. Stella brought the knife down on the stovetop upending the saucepan of now boiling water. The splash hit her in the face, and she screamed in shock and pain. The knife fell from her hand and she rushed to the sink to spray cold water on herself. He almost tripped her up going by, but the knife was more his concern, and he began to crawl toward it. It had hit the wheel of his chair and ricocheted across the linoleum under the table. Stella was screaming in pain and rage at the sink as she splashed cold water on her. Sean pulled himself across the floor, reaching for the knife. A chair impeded his reach, and he tried to move it out of the way. The legs were tangled with another chair, and it fell on him as he tried to remove it. Just one more reach and he'd have it.

Suddenly he felt the chair being lifted off his back, and he braced himself for what he knew was coming. Stella brought the chair down on him like a wrecking ball and the wind wooshed out of him. It raised again, but he managed to reach around behind him and catch one of the spindles. A tug-o-war ensued as Stella fought to regain her bludgeoning tool to finish him off. She pulled the chair with enough force to flip him over onto his back, almost loosing the chair from his grasp. Her face was the color of cranberry sauce and he could see blisters forming on her cheeks and forehead already. Her eyes were no longer blue pools of arctic sea, but bloodshot fire darts, and she was screaming obscenities in nonsensical combinations. There was a growling deep in her throat as well, that must have meant she swallowed some of the water and it damaged her throat.

"In the name of Jesus Christ, release her!" he shouted once more.

"You killed Draga you Jesus Freak," she shrieked, "now I'll kill you!"

"Draga, in the name of Jesus, release her. You are defeated!"

"No! I live forever!" the voice now was no longer Stella's but low, raspy, like gravel over a cheese grater.

"No, you are defeated! Jesus has defeated you! Release her!" Sean wasn't even conscious of what he was going to say next, it was just coming out of him. Stella wrenched upward hard, then pushed with all her weight downward. One of the spindles hit Sean's solar plexus, and he lost his grip on the chair. Stella tore it from his hands and pitched it across the room. It hit the wall with enough force to crack the seat in two. She fell on him, going for his eyes with her nails, just as she had done almost ten years ago. This time, Sean caught her wrists before she could do any damage. He was much stronger than her, even in this state, but she was wiry and he found it hard to hold her. She kept bringing her knee up into his groin, and for the first time since it had happened, Sean was thankful to be numb from the waist down.

"Draga was my friend," she growled at him, "he was my lover, he was the only one who loved me."

"Lester didn't love you, he used you like a toy." Sean spat back, "Draga wasn't even his real name. He used you and once he was done with you, he'd have walked away and never looked back."

"NO!" she screamed, "You lie! Draga loves me. Draga lives forever. I'll kill you!"

"Draga, I command you in the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth to release her!"

Suddenly, she twisted her wrist out of his grip and reached over his head. He knew she was going for the knife, but he couldn't stop her in time. She tried to stab him in the top of the head, but he managed to twist sideways and it nicked his ear and bounced off his shoulder, sending white hot pain down his arm. He grabbed the wrist with the knife again, and she tried to bear down on him with it. "Draga is all!" she hissed, saliva dripping from her bared teeth, "Draga will have your heart on a plate, Holy Joe!"

"Jesus has defeated you!" Sean said, teeth bared in effort to keep the blade at bay.

"You are a fool," she giggled, "I will put this knife through your heart, and then when your daughter comes home, I'll cut her throat and leave her for the rats to chew on, Holy Joe."

Sean's rage flared at the mention of Terri, and he pushed back on her, but the pain in his arm was weakening him. Stella's breath was hot and rancid as she bore down, almost nose to nose with him, trying to use every bit of her weight to plunge the blade into his chest. "Where is your God now, Holy Joe?" she breathed, "I still don't see Him."

"_Oh God,_" Sean prayed, "_for Terri, give me strength._" To Stella he said, "For the last time, Draga, in Jesus' name, release her."

Stella shrieked curses in his face and bore down on him. He could feel the tip of the steel pushing through the fabric of his shirt. Perhaps God hadn't heard him, or perhaps he'd gotten it wrong and God just didn't work like this. No, that was garbage. God was the same yesterday, today and forever. He had defeated the demonic, and this thing on top of him was as demonic as they get. "GOD HELP ME!" he screamed, and pushed with all his might.

Stella howled laughter. "No god will save you today, Holy Joe! Not you or your precious daughter!"

"My name is Sean, "he spat back at her and reached up with his mouth and bit the end of her nose as hard as he could. He felt a warm squirt in his mouth and got the salty taste of blood. She pulled back away from him and he used his arms to push himself out from under her. Her hand flew to her ruined nose, and tears welled in her eyes. Sean spat a piece of flesh from his mouth, and it hit the floor with a sound like wet toilet paper. He looked back to Stella, who's face now resembled something from a Clive Cussler movie. She was screaming with pain and rage, one hand cupping the ruin that used to be her nose, the other raising the knife to slash down again. She was about to fall on him again when something happened that he still wonders about to this day. His legs, dead and stationary for these many years, suddenly curled up in front of him, and as Stella fell forward, he thrust them forward and up. He connected with Stella's chest and she shot across the room, bouncing off the counter, racking her head on the cupboard, and sending the knife clattering to the floor. She stood there stunned, the empty knife hand on her head and the other filling with blood from her nose. Sean lay on the floor looking at his legs.

"How did you do that?" Stella asked. "You're a cripple, you can't move your legs!"

Sean had no good answer, and yet, he knew, somehow, he knew. He looked up at Stella. "Your finished. Jesus has defeated you, and you can't touch me."

Stella looked confused, ruined nose forgotten. She was looking around the room as if it was full of hornets. "No! No!" she screamed, "I'm supposed to live forever! I'm supposed to see the Christians wiped off the earth!" She began to spin in circles, swatting the air like a cat trying to ward off an enemy. "You can't do this to me! I am forever!"

"You are bound to the pit," Sean heard himself saying, "and to the pit you will go. Now, release her in Jesus' name!"

She screamed again, spun around again. It seemed as though light was going into her, and darkness was being pushed out like pasta dough through a spaghetti press. She fell to her knees and began to wretch on the floor. The light continued to pour into her, flowing through her body, first as a rivulet, then building to a torrent. She fell flat on her face and writhed, and spit curses into the air. She looked like a half squashed bug scurrying for cover while it's brain caught up with the fact that it was already dead. The light intensity increased, making Sean raise his arm to shield his eyes. Then Stella reared back onto her knees, shot her hands up to the ceiling, and screamed, "Jesus is the Christ, Lord of all, He is supreme! What would you do with me? Do not send me into the pit until the appointed time!" Her head shook from side to side, and he thought here eyes would burst from their sockets, they were opened so wide. "You are the Light, the One True God, the Lamb of God slain from the foundation of the world! Have mercy! Have mercy! Have mercy! HAVE MERCY!!!!"

Suddenly the light was gone, like someone had pulled the plug on a searchlight. Stella collapsed onto her side and lay motionless. For a while, Sean didn't move either. He did manage to push the knife away from her reach, but she never stirred or moved. Sean crawled to the phone and called the police.

Within fifteen minutes of the call two black and whites showed up at Sean's house. Ten minutes after that two detectives and an ambulance showed up. Stella didn't regain consciousness even when they restrained her to the gurney and loaded her in the ambulance. She was alive, her vitals were strong, just unconscious. The detectives tried to figure out how Sean had managed to subdue her, and when he told them the story of God's intervention and the demon Draga, they looked at their watches, scratched their heads, and handed him a card with their number on it telling him if he thought of anything they should know to call them. The ambulance technicians treated Sean's shoulder, wrapping it in a bandage, and told him the rest was nothing that a bath and some sleep wouldn't cure. Just a few nicks and scrapes here and there. The worst was the bruise on his back where the chair had come down on him like a pile driver.

Terri managed to walk in just as the last of the officers were leaving. The kitchen was still a shambles, blood splatters and water abounded.

"What happened here?" she asked, "It looks like you tried butchering a live bear in here!"

Sean laughed, "That's not too far off." It felt good to laugh. It felt good to not be afraid anymore, not afraid of the future. "Your mother came to visit."

Terri looked at him sideways, wondering what that was supposed to mean.

"But I think it's going to be O.K. God did something here today."

"What are you talking about?" Terri asked, completely confused.

Sean didn't answer. Instead, he reached down, moved his feet off the pedals of his chair, folded the pedals up out of the way, .....and stood.

A month later Sean was sitting in a chair across from Stella, a Plexiglas wall separating them. She was back at Moose Lake, but not for very long.

"They're shipping me to St. Paul tomorrow to get ready for a hearing," she said. "They assigned me a lawyer from the county who's trying to get me to stick with the insanity plea, but I've already made it clear I'm going to plead guilty."

Sean's jaw dropped. "Stella, I don't know what to say..."

"So don't say anything. Just keep praying for me, that God will help me to make up for what I've done to you and to Terri." She paused then asked, "how is she? Does she ever ask about me?"

Sean looked a little embarrassed, "We didn't talk much about you growing up. She was young enough that it didn't effect her as much as you might think. I think she blocked the entire memory of that night from her mind, but we have spoken about it again recently. She understands that you were sick, but she really doesn't know if she wants to actually talk to you yet." Stella looked down at her hands. "Give her some time. She's a good girl, and I know she'll come around in time."

"I really hurt a lot of people didn't I, "her voice was shaky, and Sean could see tear drops falling onto her hands. She made no move to wipe them away. "I can never thank you enough, Sean. What you did in that kitchen..."

It was his turn to cut in, "Don't thank me, Stella. I can't take credit for what happened any more than the hammer can take credit for building the house. I just want you to know, we'll be praying for you, and I'll keep in touch wherever you end up."

She looked up at him, and for the first time in almost ten years, he saw the deep blue eyes that he fell in love with in the park. She wiped at her face and made an attempt at changing the subject. "So what do the doctors say about you walking?"

"Well, I won't be running any races, but I get around fairly well with a cane these days. I still don't trust them for driving, not to quick on the break pedal, but I'm so used to the hand controls now, I just don't know if I want to switch back. They're calling it a miracle, Stella. No one can explain it. It's like that fused bone just turned itself into a perfectly healthy vertebrate. God healed me, that's all I can say."

"I'm so glad," Stella smiled, "I wish I'd never met Draga, but I guess then I might never have met you and we would never have had Terri." She paused again and looked into Sean's eyes. "I did love you Sean. Even though I was under his power, the part of me that was me really did love you, and wanted to stay with you. I hope you believe that someday."

A buzzer sounded, and a man who looked like a bulldog that had learned to walk upright and wear a white uniform came into the room behind Stella. "Wrap it up, we have to get you back."

"Just a minute, please." She said to the guard, then turned back to Sean. "Guess I gotta go. Please keep praying for me, you don't know how much that helps me."

"Don't worry," Sean assured her, "I will personally pray for you every night, and I'll see you at the hearing next week." Sean stood and put his hand on the glass, Stella mimicked it on the other side. "Use your testimony in there Stella. Don't let anyone take it away or make you think you're crazy again. You're not, you are a daughter of the King!" She smiled, nodded, and turned away, wiping the tears from her eyes. As he watched her go he thought to himself that she looked different somehow, but it wouldn't be until days later as he watched the sun setting from the back porch of his house, Terri by his side. She had been glowing.

"What's going to happen to Mom?" Terri asked.

"I'm not sure Terri," he said, putting an arm around her, "but whatever it is, she's in God's hands now. I know it will be for the best." They hugged, and Sean said a prayer for Stella and Terri. Then he stood and walked into the house.


End file.
